Waking Dream
by ImpassionedWriter
Summary: Sherlock discovers that John is having waking sex dreams about someone from the past and instead of telling him about it, he uses the opportunity to satiate his lust for the handsome doctor. [Top!Lock]


_"Don't make people into heroes. Heroes don't exist. And if they did, I wouldn't be one."_

...oOo...

Sherlock Holmes hides a shameful secret from everyone. A secret he would never let slip; sure that even under influence of alcohol or narcotics he would hold his tongue. He kept the secret as close to his chest as the walls guarding his heart.

"...hnn..." John groaned lightly in his sleep and snuggled his face deeper into the pillow. He slumbered peacefully, completely unaware of the shadowed form standing beside his bed.

Sherlock gazed down at his flatmate with tenderness and sadness. Guilt twinged in his chest but he didn't move. The doctor had no idea that this scene played itself out every night. That his closest friend awaited nighttime with quiet anticipation for this moment.

The dark-haired man reached across the space between them and lightly stroked the stubbled jawline he knew all too well.

His touch caused the sleeping man to stir and move his face against Sherlock's fingertips. John's eyelashes fluttered and slowly he opened his eyes. He looked up at the other man but didn't see him. His eyes were open but he wasn't actually awake.

Sherlock knew the circumstances of the situation and didn't care.

...

It began seven months ago.

Sherlock was sitting in his armchair reading a book about the different types of fungi when he was startled to hear a muffled cry from John's room. Instictively, he dropped the book and jumped up, bursting into the bedroom to face the attacker. But instead of an intruder, he found John alone, still curled up in bed. Confusion creased the detective's brow as he noted that the other man appeared to be asleep.

 _"Oh, dear,"_ He thought, as the blankets were unconsciously pulled closer, _"He's having a nightmare."_

John's body tensed and he rolled over onto his back, giving his flatmate a clear view of his face. When he visibly relaxed, the detective turned to go.

He was stopped by a deep moan.

Flicking a glance back to John, Sherlock's breath caught at the sight of the other man rolling his hips up into the air. John's chin lifted and he uttered another low moan as he moved, seeking a friction that wasn't there.

Blue eyes lowered to the floor and Sherlock eased toward the door, an awkward feeling brewing in his chest.

"...N-nuhh." Doctor Watson breathed, making his partner stop again. Stilling, he opened his eyes, turning to meet a stunned stare. The blanket shifted and an arm stretched out towards Sherlock, reaching for the torn man.

A quick debate in the brunette's mind was won without much resistance. He stepped across the room to intertwine the fingers of his right hand in John's and tangle the left in a handful of short brown hair. The arrogant mouth met parted lips and worked against them with ardor and slight trepidation. He'd wanted to know this feeling for a long time now.

A soft hand brushed the taller man's cheek and he pulled back, searching John's face for the desired reaction. The eyes he saw were half-lidded and unfocused.

Then John whispered, "James."

Sherlock's brow creased. "What?" He muttered, voice low with lust.

"James..." John repeated the name, leaning up to kiss Sherlock again. Their lips brushed but the younger man retreated, studying the face of his flatmate seriously. With a wave of humiliation, the detective realized the other man was having a waking dream.

John lay back on the bed and arched upwards. "Mm... more..." He murmured.

Sherlock would like to think he hadn't given into temptation, that he had more willpower than that. But it would be a lie.

His actions that night changed the relationship between the two dramatically; although he was the only one who would remember. He liked to tell himself that he was just giving John what he wanted; but the truth is he was doing it for his own selfish reasons. And this was proven by the fact that he didn't tell John about it. Sherlock was usually careful to not leave any traces or cause for pain, but sometimes he lost control and the doctor woke up curiously tired and sore.

It was a mystery that Watson didn't suspect something, but Sherlock deduced he felt a little embarrassed about it and rationalized it to himself as people often do things they don't understand.

...

So on this night, with the curtains drawn and not a soul aware of the impending act, Sherlock climbed into the doctor's bed and straddled him, kissing him long and deep. Their tongues entwined in a glorious dance, Sherlock's claiming dominance almost immediately. For all the big talk and tough front John put up, he always submitted rather quickly to the other man's advances.

"...nn... James." He moaned into Sherlock's mouth, causing the other to lose rythm before pushing his tongue further in an attempt to cease the vocalization of another's name.

He knew that when John was like this he was dreaming about someone else. It was annoying and threatened to kill the mood every time he mentioned the name, but Sherlock wanted this too much to let that get in the way.

He had no idea whose name it was; probably someone from Watson's past. But why was he having sexual dreams about this unknown man?

The brunette pushed John's collar away from his shoulder and latched onto the sensitive skin, just far enough back so the man wouldn't be able to see it, and sucked a small bruise there. It was his own personal signature, a stamp he left when feeling particularly possessive. He gently bit the reddened skin and flicked his tongue over it, making John shiver.

Large, skillful hands traveled the length of John's chest and pulled his cotton tee up over his head. Sherlock threw the article of clothing to the floor and lowered his head to leave a trail of kisses across the other's skin. The doctor's hands slid through the dark locks of his companion and fisted gently when those teasing lips found his nipple and teeth grazed it. The detective's actions earned a long moan and he rolled the other nub between thumb and forefinger, revelling in the way John arched into the attention.

The doctor's head lolled back and Sherlock took the oppertunity to nuzzle his neck, brushing his nose across the strong jawline. He wanted to say John's name but clung to the quiet.

John pushed his hips against Sherlock's, grinding their clothed erections against each other. The younger man's movements stuttered but resumed instantly. He ran his hand down the lean form and cupped John over his sweatpants. This elicited another moan, and John writhed deliciously beneath him. "More!" He cried wantonly, the desperation in his voice sending sparks of heat through Sherlock's body.

However, the next words sent his lust crashing.

"Hurry, James! I don't wanna get caught!"

The detective forced himself to swallow frustration and tried to ignore the obvious wrongfulness of the current situation.

Sherlock asked him once. One boring day when nothing was happening and he gave too little thought to the words before they were coming out of his mouth. "Who is James?"

His question earned a tempered look paired with a carefully blank gaze. "How d'you know about him?"

"You've mentioned him."

"No, I haven't." The doctor's voice was steady and sure.

"Yes, you have. On that case where you drank so much it was a miracle the pub didn't run out of liquor- remember?" He knew it was a lie, but he was counting on the blackout John complained about after to stir up uncertainty.

It did.

"We were both drunk that time. I'm surprised you can recall."

"So who is he?" Sherlock decided to push the matter.

"Just someone I knew."

"...A soldier?"

"Yes."

The detective frowned and considered asking more. But seeing the look on John's face he decided not to press the issue.

The still-dreaming person beneath him wrapped Sherlock in a warm embrance, tearing him away from his thoughts and all better judgement was lost. They began to kiss again, going without restraint until both were left panting, lips puffy and spit-slick.

Shifting his attention, the blue eyed man crawled down until he was face level with the other's waist. He gripped the waistband of John's sweats and yanked them down forcefully. The blushed, leaking member he exposed greeted him with an excited twitch. He drank in every inch of his partner's lean, surprisingly fit body. A life of crime-solving action suited him nicely; at least, Sherlock had always thought so.

He drew the other man into his mouth, the erotic heat traveling down to flicker in the pit of his belly. The intoxicating taste of this man coupled with John's groan of pleasure made him dizzy with joy. Enthusiastically, he stroked with his tongue, taking the resulting mews as a compliment.

The doctor impatiently bucked up into his partner's mouth. The shameful sounds he made served as encouragement and the eager, demanding mouth intensified its vigilant care. Again, he spoke, "M-Major... uhhn! James!"

Sherlock glanced up at John. He certainly was talkative tonight. It was starting to piss him off.

He dragged his mouth up John's cock, taking him to the very edge of euphoria. With a sensual swirl of his tongue, he removed his mouth from the member, earning a whine of need that caused his own dick to throb expectantly.

As young as fourteen, Sherlock became curious about sex and had done thorough research on the subject, taking care to explore every facet of physical intamacy to their fullest- and occasionally disturbing- extent. So he knew already the necessary steps before climbing into John's bed that first night. He put the knowledge to use and, if he wasn't in a particularly foul or selfish mood, would take his time preparing John. This extra care was rewarded by the other man's lack of pain and therefore suspicion the following day.

Perhaps that was the more selfish route, though. Being more gentle in order to keep it from being discovered on accident or by deduction... How low Sherlock had sunk into the well of depravity at this point. It shocked even him.

He took the bottle of lube and condom from the pocket of his pajama bottoms and laid them on the wrinkled sheets so he could remove the remainder of their clothes.

When every piece of fabric seperating their bodies was strewn over the floor, Sherlock picked up the bottle once more. He ran a hand down the side of John's hip, enjoying the sight of the doctor reaching down to palm his own erection in anticipation of what was coming next.

He squeezed the lubricant onto his fingers and mentally apologized for the impatience that had him pressing gently at John's entrance before it had a chance to warm up. The doctor jolted at the shock of cold but spread his legs wider. He watched Sherlock with hooded eyes and bit his lip, stroking his cock when two fingers sank deep inside him.

Sherlock tried to err on the side of caution and stretched and rubbed, adding another digit when John got used to two, until the quivering man was incoherent beyond begging.

John was beautiful when he was like this; shameless and needy. Not a trace of the stubborn former soldier remained, all facades pushed back and torn away to expose the desperation beneath. A few precious tears strayed from their hiding place behind fluttering lashes and slipped down his face as he begged to be filled.

How Sherlock managed not to fuck him all hours of the day was a mystery the detective had no desire to solve, lest unveiling the trick led to its subsequent failure. It would be difficult solving cases if he couldn't resist the urge to bend John over every flat surface.

That's not to say Sherlock didn't get distracted in his mind palace with scenes like the one playing out before him now claiming/demanding his attention.

John moved his hips to take Sherlock's fingers deeper and his eyes closed, head rolling back with a moan when the slow massage found his prostate and lingered there. Sherlock knew exactly where the sweet spot was but relished going at his own pace and toying with John until he couldn't wait anymore.

Sherlock pulled out his fingers and rolled the lubricated condom onto his achingly hard cock, licking his lips when the lovely pink hole twitched. He knew even without seeing John's face how badly he wanted it, how ready he was, like he'd been waiting a lifetime for this moment.

The ring of muscles opened and slipped around the head of his cock with little resistance when he started to push in. He felt the other man trying not to tense as he was penetrated. It was still a little tight and John swallowed a groan, shaking hand pulling at his own leaking member to distract from the stretch and burn as Sherlock continued to sink in at his own careful pace.

He always wondered how the other man didn't wake up while he was being fucked.

At last, their bodies were pressed flush against one another and Sherlock let out the breath he'd been holding to remind himself to hold back.

He'd never felt any sensation that felt as good as being inside John. It was hot, all kinds of hot that reduced his mind palace to a puddle of senseless facts. And tight. John's body was unpredictable and oh so delightful as it would sometimes squeeze around him, suck him in, and took every inch like a mold intended specifically for Sherlock. He cherished every second and stored it away in some tender part of his being that everyone doubted existed.

There was no place for sentimentality, though, when John started to grind down and moaned for him to start moving.

Eager to comply, Sherlock pulled almost all the way out slowly before slamming back in, quickly setting a rythm intended to tease John and not quite fuck him hard enough or fast enough to deliver him to orgasm. Not until Sherlock had punished him enough for mentioning another man's name while he sucked him off.

The doctor was a mess now, hair sticking to his glistening forehead as he thrashed, gripping the sheets with a fervent need for release. He made sounds that in normal situations would embarrass him even if they came from someone else. His muscles shivered and his abdomen was taut, his now neglected dick leaving a trail of pre-come as it dragged across his skin with every thrust. He was so far gone he couldn't even muster enough concentration to jerk himself off.

Sherlock loved it.

When he finally ran out of patience, Sherlock's movements became less calculated and more urgent. His hips snapped and he pounded into John's senstive prostate over and over again, until the other man was sobbing with pleasure.

Sherlock's hands on John's hips were rough and he decided he no longer cared whether he left visible marks or not.

When he was close to his own orgasm, Sherlock got much less precise and much more cavalier about tiny details and rules; even if they were rules he'd made himself.

He bent down and clamped his lips over John's parted ones and raked his teeth across the bottom lip, releasing it when John keened for a heated kiss. Their mouths worked together as their bodies moved in concurrence, each man lost in desire and propelling the other's lust higher into sweet oblivion.

Sherlock continued thrusting as licked inside John's mouth, biting his lip again. The former soldier's voice was ragged and he cried out, jerking as ropes of white shot out of his dick and coated his stomach. He clenched around Sherlock when he came and pulled the detective into climax as well.

Sherlock was buried balls deep in John, a noise close to a growl escaping from his lips as he emptied into the condom.

Even though he often came first, John never returned to a contented sleep until Sherlock came; like he couldn't rest until his partner was satisfied, too.

They were both panting for air and Sherlock could see John's eyes already starting to slide shut as he drifted down from the high, sleep once again pulling him under.

He traced the doctor's relaxed jaw and lay a gentle kiss on his swollen lips. John mumbled something and it was both a relief and disappointment when Sherlock couldn't make out what he'd said. It might have been the three words he would give anything to hear or the name of that faceless phantom he ridiculously viewed as a rival. Not knowing was better than confirming it to be the latter.

After it was all over, the raven haired detective cleaned himself up and then John, returning the snoring man to his pre-fucked state of dress. He made sure everything was in perfect order and left John's room feeling sated but strangely empty.

It always ended this way, with John's slutty side once again tucked away in the depths of his subconcious and Sherlock pleasantly spent but guilty about what he'd done.

" _Tomorrow."_ He thought, _"Tomorrow, I'll tell him about the waking dreams and I won't let myself lose control again."_

And even as the resolution swept through his mind he knew it was a lie.


End file.
